Green Smoothie Betrayal

The lifeguard's whistle cut through my awkward attempt at a cannonball. I emerged from the pool's chlorinated depths, slicking back wet hair like I was some kind of teen movie protagonist, while half the sophomore class watched from patio chairs.

My iphone buzzed on the lounge chair where I'd left it — my mom checking in, probably wondering why I hadn't texted from Jordan's party yet. Jordan, whose parents actually had an in-ground pool and let their daughter invite basically everyone from school, because apparently they'd never seen a teen movie and didn't know this was exactly how horror movies started.

I paddled to the pool's edge and hauled myself out, water streaming down my legs, when I noticed Maya watching me. Maya from English, who'd borrowed my pen three times this week and always smiled like she meant it. She was sitting cross-legged on a towel, reading a paperback like the splashing chaos of thirty teenagers didn't exist.

"You're really fast," she said, not looking up from her book.

"What?" I stood there dripping, suddenly aware of how my swim trunks were probably too loose and how my hair was definitely doing something weird.

"In the pool. You were running laps before everyone else got here." She finally glanced up, smiling. "It was impressive."

My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to be an organ. "Oh yeah, just... swimming for fitness. Cross-training, you know. For track."

This was a lie. I wasn't on track. I'd never been on track. But something about Maya looking at me like I was interesting made me want to be the kind of person who ran laps before parties.

"That's cool," she said. "I should do something athletic. Instead I just..." She gestured at herself, at her book and her relaxed posture and general aura of being a person who didn't feel compelled to perform athleticism for strangers.

"You're fine," I said, instantly wanting to die. "I mean — you look — you're good."

Why was talking so hard? Why had the English language abandoned me in my time of need?

She laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that sounded like actual joy, not the fake kind I did when popular kids made jokes that weren't funny. "You have something in your teeth, by the way."

I froze. "What?"

"Green. Like, really green." She bit her lip, trying not to laugh harder. "Did you eat something with... spinach?"

The green smoothie. The stupid green smoothie my mom had made me because I was "looking pale" and "growing too fast" and whatever other mom-logic justified drinking liquid kale at 10 AM. I'd checked my reflection in the rearview mirror at least five times since then. How had I missed this?

"Oh my god," I said, immediately covering my mouth. "Since this morning?"

"Since this morning." Maya closed her book and stood up, dripping wet as she waded toward me. "Here." She reached toward my face, her fingers gentle, and I stopped breathing. "Got it."

She held up a tiny fleck of green matter, triumphant.

"You literally could've let me know sooner," I said, but I was grinning despite myself.

"I was enjoying the show." She dropped the spinach evidence onto a napkin. "Also, I didn't want to interrupt your running laps. You looked like you were in the zone."

My phone buzzed again from the lounge chair. Probably my mom, probably demanding photos of this supposedly wholesome party, probably totally unaware that her son had been walking around with green dental floss for four hours while trying to impress a girl who definitely already knew.

"I'm going to go clean up," I said. "Properly this time."

Maya smiled, and it wasn't fake or polite or the kind you give when you feel bad for someone. "I'll be here. Unless Jordan's dad starts doing karaoke again, in which case, text me. We'll make a run for it."

"Deal," I said, and something in my chest that felt like anxiety softened into something like hope. Maybe I wasn't the person who ran laps before parties, and maybe I'd never be smooth or cool or the kind of teenager who didn't get spinach stuck in their teeth for half a day.

But maybe that was okay. Maybe the right person wouldn't want a performance anyway.

I grabbed my iphone from the lounge chair and saw my mom's text: *having fun? send pics!* and beneath it, Maya's name in a new message thread: *green teeth guy strikes again at next party?*

I typed back: *only if you promise to tell me immediately,* and hit send before I could overthink it.

Three seconds later, my phone buzzed with her response: *no promises. it's too entertaining.*

I pocketed the phone and dove back into the pool, grinning underwater, letting the chlorine wash away the last of my dignity and the beginning of something real.